Elusive Isabel eBook

XIV

A RESCUE AND AN ESCAPE

Miss Thorne’s voice startled Mr. Grimm a little,
but he had no doubts. It was Monsieur Boissegur.
Mr. Grimm was going toward the enframed figure when,
without any apparent reason, the ambassador turned
and ran along the hall; and at that instant the lights
went out again. For one moment Grimm stood still,
dazed and blinded by the sudden blackness, and again
he started toward the door. Miss Thorne was beside
him.

“The lights!” he whispered tensely.
“Find the switch!”

He heard the rustle of her skirts as she moved away,
and stepped out into the hall, feeling with both his
hands along the wall. A few feet away, in the
direction the ambassador had gone, there seemed to
be a violent struggle in progress—­there
was the scuffling of feet, and quick-drawn breaths
as muscle strained against muscle. The lights!
If he could only find the switch! Then, as his
hands moved along the wall, they came in contact with
another hand—­a hand pressed firmly against
the plastering, barring his progress. A light
blow in the face caused him to step back quickly.

The scuffling sound suddenly resolved itself into
moving footsteps, and the front door opened and closed
with a bang. Mr. Grimm’s listless eyes
snapped, and his white teeth came together sharply
as he started toward the front door. But fate
seemed to be against him still. He stumbled over
a chair, and his own impetus forward sent him sprawling;
his head struck the wall with a resounding whack;
and then, over the house, came utter silence.
From outside he heard the clatter of a cab. Finally
that died away in the distance.

“Miss Thorne?” he inquired quietly.

“I’m here,” she answered in a despairing
voice. “But I can’t find the switch.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

And then she found the switch; the lights flared up.
Mr. Grimm was sitting thoughtfully on the floor.

“That simplifies the matter considerably,”
he observed complacently, as he rose. “The
men who signaled to me when you entered the embassy
will never let that cab get out of their sight.”

Miss Thorne stood leaning forward a little, eagerly
gazing at him with those wonderful blue-gray eyes,
and an expression of—­of—­perhaps
it was admiration on her face.

“Are you sure?” she demanded, at last.

“I know it,” was his response.

And just then Monsieur Rigolot, secretary of the embassy,
thrust an inquisitive head timidly around the corner
of the stairs. The crash of glass had aroused
him.

“What happened?” he asked breathlessly.

“We don’t know just yet,” replied
Mr. Grimm. “If the noise aroused any one
else please assure them that there’s nothing
the matter. And you might inform Madame Boissegur
that the ambassador will return home to-morrow.
Good night!”